


Cause and Effect - Book 2: Hollow Hearts

by Faylinn_Night



Series: The Cause and Effect Saga [2]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2014), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Anger Management, Broken Families, Broken Promises, Broken people, Crimes, Cyborgs, Everything Hurts, F/M, Friendship/Love, Identity Issues, Idiots in Love, Kidnapping, Loss of Trust, Love/Hate, Medical Experimentation, Mental Breakdown, Original Organization, Psychological Torture, Purple Dragons Gang, Raph Is An Idiot, Regret, Sci-Fi, Secrets, Thriller, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Unrequited Love, everyone is a mess, how the mighty have fallen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 13:20:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10594842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faylinn_Night/pseuds/Faylinn_Night
Summary: Odd crimes across Manhattan reveal a secret of Don's that puts Leo in mortal danger.  Soon, the boys are thrust into the downtrodden world of the desperate and must search for their eldest brother with help from new and old friends.  Will those missing be found on time?  Or is it too late for these hollow hearts?  For one cyborg, Don doesn't think so.  No matter what, he'll save Melody Gray, too. [Donny/OC]





	1. Thanksgiving

**Author's Note:**

> Plan to update once a week or something like that. No promises. This is the sequel to my first TMNT fanfic "Finding Balance". :) Also, this story was written during a hard time in my life. It shows. Prepare yourself and know its all for the best, in the long-run...
> 
> Disclaimer: TMNT belongs to Eastman and Laird and/or Nick (not sure at this point). Nia Anders, Melody Gray, and other OCs belong to me. Thanks.

* * *

 

 **A** pril O’Neil brushed aside her tapered bangs for a better view of the African-American sitting across from her in a diner’s booth.  “Thanks for the offer, Hugh, but I’ll pass,” she said.

“You sure?” asked Hugh.  His bright eyes fell to the cold order of fries by the redhead then returned to her face.  “Casey—“

“He won’t be there, trust me,” April spat.  When the detective’s large lips pursed, the woman took a breath to ease her narrowed eyes.  “Sorry.  Guess I’m a little bitter.”

“Understandably so.”

“Jones left last Monday.  He won’t be back for a while.”

“I see.  Are you still considering a vacation?”

“I’ll spend Thanksgiving with the guys then head out.”

“Where to?”

“South America.  I like to show my face once in a while to folks I import from.  After that, I’ll visit my sister Robyn in California.”

“That’s quite a trip.”

“Yeah, well”—the woman’s gaze fell on her fries—“I need a break.”

Silence.

“April?”

Slowly, April picked her head up to face Hugh.

“Can I offer a word of advice?” he asked.

“Knock yourself out,” the redhead muttered.

“I see what you’re going through.  Really, I do.  You have the same expression Mia had whenever we would fight about children.  I know what I would’ve done if given more time, so as one boneheaded man speaking in place of another, he’ll regain his senses.”

The woman huffed.  “You don’t know Jones.  He’s an oblivious asshole.”

“Who I’ve seen so distraught that he was willing to move Earth and Heaven to keep you safe.”  Hugh’s warm eyes prompted April to reply, but she remained silent.  “Like it or not,” added the man, “he loves you.  I can tell you do too, regardless of, well,  everything.  My wife’s stuck with me, and I’ve had those same issues.  She just gave me enough chances.”

“I’ve given Jones _lots_ of chances.  He’s dashed almost every single one.”

The dark-skin man hummed when April glared.  “By all means, give him no more.  But only do so if you wholeheartedly believe it.  Trust me: the last thing you want is to wake up one morning and realize you’ve made a terrible mistake.  That kind of thing haunts you.”

April forced a smile.  “I understand.  Thanks, Hugh.”

“What are friends for?”  Hugh’s smile was far more genuine.  “Speaking of boneheads, though…how are Nia and Raphael?”

“You’re doing that ‘dad thing’ again,” April half-sung.

“What ‘dad thing’?”

“The thing where a father asks his daughter’s friends how she and her boyfriend are doing.”

“I just—”  The man sighed.  “You would know better than me.”

“How are you going to keep tabs on her while I’m gone?”

“Ask Michelangelo?”

The redhead sniggered.  “I take it the time you two have been spending together has been for the better?”

“Mike’s a good guy.  So, will you answer?”

“They’re fine, I guess.  Raph doesn’t really show his affection for her around us, but that’s expected.  He’s like Casey.  Too much like Casey.  All I can say is I hope Nia’s patience can withstand Raph’s future stupidity.  She’s in for a _rude_ awakening when their first real fight comes along.”

“Such an optimist.”  Hugh chuckled.  “Anyways, what happens if that fight takes place while you’re gone?  Will you be available for Nia?”

“Nope.  I’ll be completely off the grid; I need it.  If she must talk, she has Mikey.  So if you wanna remain in the loop, talk with him, Gossip Boy.”

“Hey now.”

“You set yourself up for jabs like that.”  The redhead shrugged before searching through her purse on the booth’s bench.  “But speaking of them, I better get going.  I have to stop by the organic store for Splinter.”

“More herbs?”  The slight exasperation in Hugh’s tone matched that of one who’s asked the same question multiple times and the edges of his mouth downturned with a sigh.

“Yeah.”  April offered a grin that soon died as she placed money atop the restaurant check.  “Oils aren’t working anymore.  His joints are beginning to lock up, and though he doesn’t say it, we can tell he’s in pain.  This time Don and I are using Eucalyptus and Violet to make our own salve, see if that helps.”

“Hope it does.”

“Me too.”  Standing, the redhead nodded at the detective.  “Have a great Thanksgiving, Hugh.”

“Likewise.  Oh, and April?”

Two steps from the booth, April faced the African-American.  “Yes?”

“Nice haircut,” he said.  “It suits you.”

The woman almost laughed.  “Thanks, Hugh.”

### ━❖━

Hamato Raphael knew his girlfriend adored Silver Sentry, but he never expected she would act so out of character in the ex-hero’s presence.  After gaping like a banked fish, Nia had managed this downright geeky laugh reminiscent of a hyena on crack.  This was followed by several squeaking noises where the phrase ‘You’re the Silver Sentry’ could sometimes be heard.  By the time Raph fully grasped the situation, a realization had his sight fixed on the human’s grin: he was dating a geek.  Like Mikey.

“Hey, you okay?”

Raphael blinked as a green hand waved in front of him, asking, “Huh?”

“You were staring into space,” Don added.  “At Nia.”  The purple-masked Chūnin sent his older brother a smirk, although Raph wouldn’t face it.

“I was just thinkin’ what a dork she is.  She acts like she just met the coolest guy on Earth.”  Raph rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.  “Come on, we’ve saved the world more times than he has.”

“But we don’t have our own comic or television series.”

“Maybe in anoddah universe.”

“Someone sounds jealous.”

“I ain’t that childish.”

“Uh-huh.  Well, it was sweet of you to convince Jamal to come.  I know this made Nia’s day.”

“Eh?”  Raph’s eye ridges furrowed  “I didn’t convince him.  Mike did.”

“Oh.”  Pausing, Don nodded then returned his attention to Nia.  “So _Mikey’s_ the one to thank.”

“What’s that supposed ta mean?”

“I’m just clarifying.”

“Clarifyin’ what?”  Raph jerked Don’s shoulder, so the two made eye contact again.

“You know,” Don said.

“What difference does it make if I made Sentry come or not?”

The younger mutant soured.  “You’re her boyfriend.  Shouldn’t you, say, do nice things for her?”

“I do things.”

“Like what?”

“It’s personal.”

“That’s Raph Code for ‘I’ve done nothing memorable.'  Seriously.  Taking her out of the Lair no longer counts.”

“I’ve done more than that.”

“Kisses also don’t count.”

“Since when?”

“Romanticism flies clean over your head, doesn’t it?”  Donny sighed.  “Isn’t it about time you did something more than rooftop visits?”

“Nia hasn’t complained.”

“Because she’s not the type who would.”

“What are ya?  My datin’ coach?”

“Look.  I’m not saying you need to act like a prince from some kid’s movie.  Just be more considerate.  Then reactions like that”—Don jabbed a thumb towards the living room, where Nia’s babbling could be heard—“will be reserved for you.”

“How would ya know so much about this stuff anyway?” Raph asked.  Something about his brother’s dark look signified he harbored fragments of jealousy and experience.  “Does this have ta do wit’—wait, do ya smell somethin’?“

“Donny, you’re letting my macaroons burn!” Michelangelo’s high voice confirmed the waft of smoke that stung Raph’s sinuses.  The orange-masked Chūnin leaped from his seat beside Silver Sentry then dashed between his brothers into the kitchen, groaning.  “Aw, man, that’s the only batch I could make!”

“Sorry, Mikey!” Don called back.  With a cringe, his brown eyes fell on Raph then the kitchen’s archway, which he soon passed through.  Raph watched him leave through narrowed eyes, just to let him know the subject wasn’t forgotten.

“Raphael, my son, is the table ready to be set?”

Raphael spun towards his father seated in an armchair then nodded.  “Hai, Sensei.”

“Then perhaps it is time you retrieved the tableware and cloth.”  The old master flashed a smile—one which couldn’t mask his pain; even his voice echoed with it.

“I can do that, Master Splinter,” a new voice added.

“April!” Nia cheered. She jumped up, and the two females shared a tight hug as April set a plastic bag on the dining room table.  “You won’t believe who’s here!” Nia all but squealed.  She glanced towards Silver Sentry then back at the redhead.  “Your hair’s shorter.”

“Yeah, I felt it was old, so.”

“I like it.”  Raph would guess Nia gave April one of her trademark smiles.  “Layered hair is trendy, and I love how it frames your face.  I admit, I never imagined you as a bangs person, but these are nice.”

“Um, thanks?”

“Wh—what?  Did I say something unkind?”

“It’s okay.”  Smirking, April placed a hand on the bare shoulder Nia’s over-sized sweater exposed.  “So, are the table cloths in the same spot?  Or has Mikey reorganized again?”

“Hilarious, Sis!” Mikey cried from the kitchen.

Splinter chuckled.  “They are in the same spot, April-chan.”

“Arigatou,” replied the redhead.  Her gaze then found Nia, who nodded.

A faint smile worked its way across Raph’s mouth as the duo left.  It pleased him to see his girlfriend making more of an effort to be involved and helpful, instead of sitting in a room all day.

‘M _aybe ya should do somethin’ special then_ ,’ part of his mind argued.  Raph shook the thought away, though, distracted by Leonardo.

The Jonin neared the dining room table and inspected the plastic bag April had left behind.  “Are these the flowers you mentioned?” he asked.

“Yeah!” April answered.  After a moment, she and Nia returned, each carrying a different sheet.

“Last I checked, we only got one table,” Raph noted.

“Nia insisted,” April answered.  “Said one sheet wouldn’t be as dynamic.”

“No need ta make it fancy, Ni,” added Raph with a smirk.  “We ain’t exactly the ‘Country Club’ ‘round here.”

“I want to!”  Nia spoke quickly, eyes wide.  “This is my first Thanksgiving with you guys.  I can’t cook, but I can decorate.  So, please…it means a lot.”

“Fair enough,” Leo said.  When the young woman looked his way, he smiled.  “I think what Raph meant is that you don’t have to go over-the-top.  You’ve already proven yourself to this clan.”

“Thanks, Leo,” Nia whispered.  She mirrored his smile, although her jaw remained clenched.

“Well then, Ni and I will get to setting up the table,” April announced as she wrapped an arm around the younger female’s shoulder.  She then guided Nia passed Donny into the kitchen.

“What’s wit’ ya, Brainiac?” questioned Raph.

“I got kicked out,” Don replied as if stumped by a mathematical equation.  “Apparently, I’m a kitchen liability.”  A round of laughter erupted from the group as the genius neared Leonardo, his mouth pursed.

“That’s alright,” Leo told him.  He held up the plastic bag.  “I wanted us to work on this anyway.”

Instantly, the taller mutant’s expression softened.  “Oh, yeah.  Follow me.”

Leo did so without complaint.

“I think I’ll go help Michelangelo.”  Raphael did a double take when Silver Sentry spoke; he had almost forgotten about the superhuman.  Wordless, Silver Sentry exited the room.  This left Raph and Splinter alone.

“My son, come sit.”  The hothead barely had time to plop on the couch’s end cushion before the elder mutant continued.  “You are troubled.”

‘ _Reads us like a book, don’t he?_ ’ Raph thought with a sigh.  Guess there was no use in fighting it.

“That bastard had no right ta say anythin’.”

“Language, Raphael.”

“Gomen.”

“I agree that Anders-san was unjust with his words.”

“Unjust?”  A snarl bubbled in Raph’s throat.  “Why not try ‘a self-absorbed asshole’?  Or ‘a close-minded—‘“

“Raphael, enough.”  The sharp clap of Splinter’s wooden cane against the Lair’s concrete floor silenced the Chunin.  “I empathize with your frustrations, my son.  However, you must let Anders-san’s words flow over you like water over stone.”

“That’s easier said than done.  Ya didn’t see Nia’s face.  Gavin guilt tripped her the entire time.  Sayin’ things like ‘I know yer mother would never leave like this' and ‘I guess it’s time ya outgrew yer parents.'  That kinda shit sticks wit’ her, ya know?”

Raph faced his father with a frown as deep as his voice, and for a long time Splinter stared back.

“Anders-san has grown more hostile over the last two weeks,” the rat said.  “It is understandable, given the condition of his wife.  We are the closest things he can lash out against, save from the medical staff.”

“It’s more than that.  He ain’t used ta sharin’.  An’ our kind ain’t exactly the company he wants Nia ta keep.”

“Even so, harboring resentment will gain us a little leeway with him.”

“Leeway?”  The Chūnin locked eyes with his father—his expression solemn and his heart heavy.  “We’ve saved his daughter.  Multiple times.  That earned us _jack squat_.  I doubt we’ll ever gain his favor or pardon, Sensei…”

“Alright, who’s ready to stuff their faces?”  Michelangelo’s loud cry broke the staring contest between Raphael and Splinter, drawing their attention to the culinary spread across the dining table.  “Phil, Ernie, and the Professor just arrived too,” continued Mikey.  “That completes the guest list.”

“I—I’ll go get Leo and Donny,” Nia added.

Raphael watched the artist head for the Lab then stood up.  He addressed his father only after a few deep breaths, but even then he could still feel the embers of his rage lingering in his chest.

“Let’s just have a good Thanksgivin’,” he said.

“Yes,” Splinter reached for his son’s offered hand, “I do believe we all need a good day.”


	2. Hollow

 

* * *

 

Hamato Michelangelo stared at his purple-masked brother.  “Hello,” he drawled.  “Earth to Donny.  Calling Donny.”

Donatello jerked his head upwards, his face blank.

“Dude,” Mikey said, “you’re so far gone, Pluto is asking where you’re at.”

“Sorry,” Donny replied.

The genius’ tone sounded distant, so Mikey set aside the plate of leftover food he planned to heat up for Leonardo.  “Alright, what’s up?” he asked.

Donny shook his head then placed down a half-filled plate of his own.  “Wh—what do you mean, Mike?”

“You’ve been looking sort’a, I dunno, hollow these days.  Is July still bugging you?”

“Huh?  No, no.”

Mikey leaned against the counter when his brother sighed.  “I take it the others have questioned you about this.”

“A few times.”

“Have you been down because of Kingston?”

“No.”

“Bishop then?”

“ _No_ , Mikey.”

Boundaries be damned; the youngest ninja had to know.  “Donny, we aren’t blind.  This stuff has been going on for months.  Doctors call that depression.”

“I have _nothing_ to be depressed about.”  Don’s eyes narrowed then rolled as the genius reclaimed his food.  “Everything’s fine.  I’m fine.”

“Really?” Mikey added.  “Because, you aside, Gavin caused big drama yesterday.  And Thanksgiving felt wrong without Casey.”

“Blame that on Casey; he’s the idiot.”

Mikey frowned at the sharp, almost mocking, edge in Don’s voice.  He snatched the plate from his brother’s hands, flashing a disapproving look.

“What?” Donny asked, half-shrugging.  “The fool practically begged to be dumped.  ‘A motorcycle is better than a ring’?  He’s lucky April didn’t jab the keys into his thick skull.”

“You don’t have to sound so hateful, though.”  Mikey returned the plate to Don with such force that it caused the six-foot mutant to backpedal.  “It was a boneheaded move, yeah, but that’s no reason to belittle Casey.”

“Whatever.”  The genius continued loading his plate with leftovers, although his thoughts must’ve lingered on the recently-disbanded couple—if the overflowing spoonfuls of green bean casserole meant anything.

“I thought you were over April,” Mikey told him.

Donatello’s plate slammed against the countertop like the crack of a whip.  It echoed in the kitchen and shot a jolt of adrenaline through Michelangelo’s spine.

Donny met his brother with an unusual snarl that exposed his gap-teeth.  “It’s _not_ about that,” he said in a tone softer than expected.  “I just—he—he...”  The genius sighed.  “I’m _sick_ of idiots abuse their chances in love.”

“Idiots like Casey and Raph?”  Mikey’s tone grew tart against his will.  He shook his head as Donny nodded then grabbed an empty plate for himself.  There was a large chip on the side, but he couldn’t have cared less about it.  “Guess I understand that.  It’s been hard watching Raph being, well, Raph.  Don’t think he’s fully realized that Nia isn’t like Angel.  She needs more attention.  Consideration.”

“Someone sounds jealous.”

‘ _Jealous?_ ’ thought Mikey.

He sent his sibling a sidelong glance, which Donny ignored.  The other Chunin walked over to the microwave, warmed his food, and then exited the kitchen without another word.  He left Mikey staring at the brick archway as the latter recalled what Jamal said during Thanksgiving …

 

_Michelangelo abandoned his boiling pot of macaroni for Donatello’s side at the crowded countertop.  He was met with a horrible site: eggshell bits buried deep into the pliable dough stretched across a glass pie pan._

_“Sorry, Mike,” Don said, drying his hands._

_“Wha—?”  Mikey glanced from the butchered pie crust to his purple-masked brother several times.  “You can sodden wiring like a brain surgeon, yet can’t crack one bloody eggshell?”_

_”Hey,  I said sorry.”_

_“That’s it; you’re as much of a liability as Nia at this point.  Out!  Out!”  Mikey shoved his brother towards the kitchen doorway until the genius was exiled and was pleased to note that Silver Sentry stood ready as a replacement.  “Jamal,” he said.  He shared a grin with Nia and Apil as they retrieved some silverware then left, adding, “Could you do me a favor and pick the eggshell out of that dough?”_

_Much to Mikey’s relief, the superhuman dismissed the use of his real name.  He set aside his gloves on a nearby stool then pulled back his mask to reveal a pair of dark brown eyes that the mutant had been introduced to last year._

_“Your new friend seems excitable,” Jamal said once at his station._

_Mikey returned to his macaroni pot, which now boiled over.  “She’s only that way with certain things,” he replied while dumping the pasta into a colander in the sink.  He flinched away from the hot steam that followed.  “I’ve never seen her so excited before.  Though that may not be saying much; we’ve been friends for just a few months, even if it feels much longer.”  Smiling, the Chūnin began rinsing the pasta in cold water.  “Thanks, by the way.  I know you’ve hung up your cape ever since you started a family, but…this meant a lot.  To her.  Like me, she grew up idolizing you.”_

_“Anything for the Turtle Titan.”  The humor in Jamal’s voice made Mikey chuckle._

_“Thanks, J.  Uh, how’s your family?”_

_“Good.  The kids are getting bigger every day.  They certainly keep Teresa busy.”_

_Mikey made his way to the stove then set the macaroni pan down before retrieving the shredded cheese, milk, butter, and pre-cooked bacon to complete his recipe.  “Which one likes to crawl around the house and tear down all the curtains?  Trey?”_

_“No, that’s the older one, Candace. Girl is a one-man wrecking machine.  She’s walking now.”_

_“What?  Already?”_

_Jamal sent a look over his shoulder then returned to the pie crust.  “Teresa and I are torn on if it’s because she’s half superhuman or unnaturally determined.”_

_“What about Trey?  Is he moving?”_

_“Not really.  Boy barely even crawls.  He likes to sleep more than anything.  Hey, I think I got them all.”_

_Mikey stepped back until he stood beside the superhuman, studying the pie pan.  “Everything looks in order  Now, do you want to mix the mac and cheese?”  The Chūnin_ _held up a wooden spoon, which his friend accepted without question.  “So do you regret it?”_

_Jamal headed for the macaroni pot, saying, “You ask that every time we see each other.”_

_“Just checking for consistency.”_

_“Believe me, I’m very happy.  You have no idea how rewarding it is to have a wife and kids.”  Jamal’s pause could be physically felt inside mutant’s gut as if the man’s guilt had manifested.  “Man, I’m sorry.  I never meant—“_

_“It’s alright.”  Mikey half-laughed while spreading more dough into a second pie pan.  “I know what I can never have.”_

_“Never is a little overdramatic.  Isn’t it?  The young woman I met earlier, she’s Raphael’s girlfriend, correct?”_

_“Technically.”_

_“Then isn’t there hope for you?”_

_“Nia’s too sweet for Raph.”  Mikey’s thumb tore through the dough, and only Jamal’s hum convinced the mutant back to mend it._

_“Careful, Mike.  Jealousy can be dangerous.”_

_“What?  Me?  Jealous?”  The Chūnin_ _loudly passed air through his lips.  “I’m not jealous.  I just can’t see why someone as quirky and fun as Nia would want to date an oaf.  I just—I don’t—I don’t see it.  Do you?”_

_“I’m not one to ask.”  Jamal turned, so he met his friend face to face.  “You would know better than I.  What I can see, however, is a troubling dislike for your brother’s relationship.  Shouldn’t you have more faith in him?”_

_At Jamal’s arched eyebrow, Mikey’s thoughts fell on the reason April had arrived at the Lair alone.  Who knew how long it would be before Nia was in the redhead’s shoes?_

_“Michel—“_

_“Know what?  This pie can be completed later.  Why don’t we go tell everyone the food’s ready?”  Mikey left before Jamal could reply and did his best to muster a smile for his clan, despite the pit in his stomach._

“Oi, Shell-for-Brains!”  Raphael’s Brooklyn accent brought Michelangelo back to reality.  “If ya ain’t in here in five seconds, we’re leavin’ yer shell behind an’ orderin’ pizza!”

Blinking, Mikey piled more food onto his plate—unconcerned with what he chose—as he cried back, “Coming!”

### ━❖━

Hamato Leonardo doubted he could withstand one more argument from his brothers—he really did—and his expression said as much.  Eyes narrowed, he watched the Chunin that he had halted on the roof of a sports bar, yet none of them returned the gesture.  What children.

 “Hey, there’s a craft store,” Michelangelo said—like he hadn’t been stopped with reason.  “I’m sure Nia would love to visit that.  Don’t you think, Raphy?”

Raphael answered with a growl and the question, “Would ya stop sayin’ things like that _every_ block we pass?”

“I call things as I seem ‘em, Dude.”

“Don’t you two ever tire of bickering?” Leo interjected.  He kept his voice level, despite wanting to yell, and even repressed a sigh as Mikey smiled.

“But now’s a perfect time to scout for places,” the youngest said.

“We on patrol, Mike.”

“So?  Nothing’s come up.  Besides, Raphy should find new places for dates.”

“That’s my business, not yer’s,” Raph snapped, foot stomping.

“Well, you’re doing a shitty job of it,” Mikey countered.  “If Nia were _my_ girlfriend, I’d be taking her to more than just rooftops.”

Amber eyes rolled.  “She likes rooftops.  An’ in case ya took one too many blows ta the head, we can’t just waltz inta a store.  Idiot.”

“Oh, bull!”  Mike’s form straightened as he crossed his arms.  “We’ve done it before.  Just pick the right time and place, and you can easily be mistaken as a horribly disfigured fat man instead of the ugly mutant turtle that you are.”

“Mikey, it would be a terrible idea for Raph put himself in such a position,” added Donatello dryly.  The genius stood between his brothers to prevent Raph from body-slamming Mikey.  It barely worked.

“I don’t see the harm,” Mikey said with a huff.  “We did it a lot when we were younger.”

“Yes, and it was dangerous then, too,” continued Leonardo.  With a weak sigh, the Jonin rounded the group, signaling for them to near the roof’s ledge.  When they did so, he peered over the building’s shin-high lip.  “Dating spots aren’t our current priority.  Do you want to tell Phil and Ernie we aren’t taking this seriously?”  In an instant, Leo sensed Mikey’s face drop.

“I _am_ taking this seriously,” the youngest said.  “Just because I don’t have my eyes glued on every nook and cranny doesn’t mean—What?“

Leonardo held up a hand for silence, and the others obeyed.  Together, they listened to some subtle movement within the bar’s side alley.  Leo’s six fingers twitched at his sides, ready for action.  However, the metallic rustling of trashcans was soon followed by a goofy laugh that sounded fit for a child’s cartoon.  Leo’s tension eased as a bulky-clothed figure stumbled onto the trash-littered ground.  The man pushed himself upright below the grimy backlight then began giggling as his sneakers tapped the body of a fallen trashcan.

“Great; a drunk,” Raphael said in well-practiced sarcasm.

“Maybe not,” countered Donatello.

“Yeah, like _that_ ain’t drunk.”

The purple-masked Chūnin leaned over the concrete ledge, gaze fixed on the man who beat the asphalt with his hands and feet.  Only after a long moment did Don lean back.  “Watch his movements,” he said, jutting his chin forward.

Leo exchanged looks with Mikey and Raph before he did as his genius brother commanded.

“They appear sluggish,” Donny added, “but if you study them, they have order, rhythm.  His limbs are keeping a tempo.”

Raph snorted.  “So he’s a musical prodigy.”

“Do you mean his hands, feet, and head are all tapping to a different song?” Mikey asked.

“No.  Just one.”

“How can ya even tell, Brainiac?”

Don sent Raph a pointed look.  “Break.”

“Uh”—Mike made a face—“break for what?”

“The song ‘Break,'”  Donny pointed towards a one-story building ahead that thumped with muffled rock music.  “By Three Days Grace.”

“Ah,” Mikey drawled while nodding.  Then, he paused.  “What about it?”

The genius ran a hand down his face.  “Don’t you get it?  The instruments.  He’s tapping to the beats of the drums, guitar, and bass.”

“So  he _is_ a musical prodigy.”

“Not necessarily, Mike,” answered Don.  “Just someone who really likes music.”

“An’ he’s actin’ like a toddler ‘cuz…?”  Raph raised an eye ridge at Donny, awaiting an answer.

“Rupert!” an alarmed, feminine voice cried out.  It startled Leonardo, who scraped his shin on the concrete lip when he spun towards the alley’s mouth.

“Damn, that lady’s got some lungs, don’t she?” Raph whispered.  He had followed Leo’s lead like the remaining ninjas, ducking low to keep out of sight.

Leo kept quiet and watched a curly-haired brunette bundled in a fur coat approach the man with haste.  The hard clicks of her heels drew Rupert’s attention, although he remained amongst the trash.  He released another goofy laugh and outstretched an arm like a child wanting to be picked up by their parent.

“Rupert, I swear you almost gave me a heart attack,” the woman said When close enough, she reached for his hand, sighing shakily.  “I told you, you can’t leave like that.  You have to stay beside me.”

“Sammy,” said Rupert.  His high voice sounded no less silly than his laugh had been.  “Sammy, music.”

“Yes, I know, you love music.”  Sammy kneeled to help Rupert up.  Doing so cost her little effort, which left Leo convinced the woman been pulling the man out of alleys for years already.  “We can’t always follow the music, though, can we?” she asked.

Rupert’s head ducked.  “No, Sammy.”

“Hey,” Sammy’s hand caught the man’s chin and drew his eyes to her, “You aren’t in trouble, okay?  You just scared me.  Bars aren’t fun.  Remember?  The people there are not nice.”

“No, not nice,” said Rupert near tears.

“Come on.”  Stepping back, Sammy slipped her arm under the man’s and began leading him out of the alley.  “Cliff took the girls to Christmas shop for their brothers, so you and I are going to keep Ryan and James from fighting over who gets the best present in their name.”

Bursting into sudden laughter, Rupert jumped twice.  “Tory help!”

“Yeah, Tory loves you,” Sammy replied.  The rest of their conversation was lost to the city’s usual chatter.

Leonardo stood up alongside his brothers, eyes lingering on the alley’s mouth before he faced his clan.  “Let’s call it a night.”

“Already?”  Donny asked.

“Come on,” added Raph, glaring.

Mikey pointed at them both.  “Did ya’ll forget Nia wanted to watch a movie with us tonight?”

“Right.”  Don snapped his fingers.  “Steel Man, if I recall.”

“For Raph’s benefit, no doubt,” Mikey said with a twisted smile.  “Speaking of the Dudette, have you guys started Christmas shopping yet?  Specifically for our little artist?“

“Mikey,” Leo snapped.  He tried maintaining a straight face, yet sighed under the youngest’s wide, hopeful eyes.  “We can make a game plan when we get home.”

“Yes!”

“But our focus outside the Lair is to help Ernie and Phil with Star.”

“I know.”

“Good.”  The Jonin nodded at the others, and without another word, the ninja disappeared from the roof.


	3. Little Red Robberies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to add this chapter last week but got so busy. Ugh. Hopefully, I'll have a second one to add this week, too...

* * *

 

 **N** ormally, Hamato Donatello was the least likely of his brothers to curse.  So why, then, did foul words leave his lips whenever a soldering tool was pushed off the workbench, or a couple of wires fell behind their parent machine?  Things like that were expected when tinkering.  Don certainly expected them.  Yet he cursed anyway.

 

_“Donny, we aren’t blind.  This stuff has been going on for months.  Doctors call that depression.”_

Don grimaced, remembering Michelangelo’s words.  ‘ _I’m not depressed_ ,’ he thought.  ‘ _What I am is behind on Lair maintenance.  Need to diagnose that glitch in the video feed, and I’ll feel better doing that once the central computer is back on par.  Just need to get—these—Come on, you dumb things!_ ’

Don shifted on the concrete floor, leaning further into the crook between his lab’s computer servers and the brick wall.  But no matter how far his arm stretched, his three fingers barely grazed the wires’ smooth surface before they fell further away.  Dammit!

Growling, the mutant jumped up, snatched a wrench from a nearby shelf, and then chucked it across the room like a shuriken, screaming, “Shit!  Fucking, son of a—“              

“It seems our resident genius is being colorful for a change.”

Despite Leonardo’s bemused grin, Donny groaned.  ‘ _Of course, Leo would walk in.  Thanks, Turtle Luck._ ’

“Hey,” Leo stepped into the lab, “you want—“

Don held up a hand.  “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“You know.”

“I do?”  Leo crossed his arms in a way that Don had long-since learned was a sign of persistence.  “I was just about to ask if you wanted to join us for a little meeting, but”—his gaze drifted to the array of scattered tools behind Don—“I guess you’re busy.”

“I tried running the facial recognition program again,” Donatello said.  “And, yes; the servers overheated.  Only, this time when I shut down the system, their temperatures didn’t fall.”

“Are they stable?”

“They’re normal now.  Just took a few hours.”

“Good.  Have you found the cause?”

“It’s not a bug; my firewalls would never let something slip by.  Still, I took precautionary measures, ran a scan after defragging each server.  It’s safe to say the cables are at fault.”

Leo raised an eye ridge.  “The cables?”

Nodding, the Chunin leaned an arm against the workbench behind him.  “I anticipated this might happen.  I just hoped it would be…later.  See, the AC cords are low-to-medium-watt, meant to power more than your average PC yet insufficient for industrial-grade servers.  They don’t have near enough insulation to maintain the current, so they’re melting.”

Leo’s eyes widened behind his mask then relaxed.  “You haven’t had a fire, have you?”

“A minor one. I put it out.”

There was a strange rasping sound as the Jonin’s arms uncrossed.  “Seriously?  When?”

“Last week.  What?”  Don shrugged under Leo’s glare.  “I can handle a little electrical fire, Leo.”

“You should’ve mentioned something.”

“What could you do?”

“Nothing, I guess.”  With a shake of his head, Leo crossed his arms again, his expression more solemn than Donny would like.  “Why didn’t you buy new cables when you bought the servers?”

“Because the servers cost a shit ton of money already!” Don snapped.  Then, he paused to reign in another curse.  “Sorry,” he added.  “I had hoped these cables could last until after Christmas.”

“I understand,” Leo replied.  “But servers can’t be the only reason you were cursing like a sailor, can it?”  At the Jonin’s brotherly look, Don wanted to run.  But the furthest he could escape was a few steps before the eldest Hamato blocked his path.  “I don’t like prying either, Donny,” continued Leo, “but you should talk to someone about whatever’s going on.”

“It’s not something that can be fixed,” Don retorted.  He stopped short when his brother gripped his bicep.

“How do you know if you won’t try?”

For the longest time, Donny stared at Leo until the pain behind the Jonin’s stare forced the genius to glance downwards.  “I—I made a mistake, okay?” he asked.  “A few months ago, I hurt someone close to me.  And recently it’s settled in that I’ve lost my chance to…”

“So—someone close to you?  Like April?”

”It’s not April; that’s all I can say.  I’m just trying to work through this…feling.”  The loosening of Leo’s grip is what convinced Donny to raise his vision, even at the expense of his stinging eyes.

“Alright,” Leo said, uneasy, “but if you want help with that, you know we’re here.”

“I know.”

“So, want to join us for that meeting I mentioned?”

“Yeah.”

Donatello let Leonardo lead the way.  Together, they traveled the length of a narrow hallway outside the lab to the living room.  But before the duo reached the couch, Don noted two distinct voices speaking.

“Come on, Dude,” Michelangelo whined.  “Nia’s topside, visiting her parents and starting her own shopping.  Now’s the perfect time to talk about this!”

“I’m watchin’ Ultimate Wrestin’ Smackdown, Numbskull,” Raphael countered.  “Go away or be quiet.”

“You won’t even give me a hint?”

“After last night?  Forget it.”

“I bet ya  got nothing.”

“Whatever.”

“You need help, Raphy.  Admit it.”

“I ain’t the one who needs help.”

“Uh-huh.  I bet my present for Nia will be more awesome than yours.  Scratch that, I know it will!”

Don and Leo watched Mikey bounce on the weathered couch.  They didn’t speak, though, and, in a mutual interest, kept their distance behind the furniture.

Raph scoffed then glanced sideways.  “What _are_ ya gettin’ her?”

“If you don't share, neither will I,” Mikey answered.  “All my presents are picked out, although I’m starting to reconsider yours.”  Pausing, the mutant rubbed his chin between his thumb and forefinger.  “Wonder if I could get Hugh something as well.  He’s been very chill about the whole, ya know, ‘mutants are real’ thing.”

“Remember: ya got limits.”

“I can ask Donny for extra.”

“Why?  So ya can run around like a monkey for it?”’

Don frowned at that.

“Dude!”  Mikey jumped to rotate on the couch cushion.  “I like that Don makes us work for an allowance.  Don’t you feel less guilty that way?”

“Not really,” Raph muttered, returning to the show.

The youngest Hamato shook his head.  “Well, until the rest of us can make our own cash, we’re stuck.  So, got any romantic plans for Christmas Eve?”

“That’s enough, you two,” Leonardo interjected.  The seated mutants twisted the best they knew how (given the restrictions of their carapaces) and faced their eldest brother behind the couch.  “Mikey,” added Leo, “we’ve talked about gifts earlier.  For now, focus on Ernie and Phil’s favor.”

“That’s a night job though,” Michelangelo countered with furrowed eye ridges.

“Brainstorming isn’t,” Donny said.

“What’s brainstormin’ gunna accomplish, Brainiac?” asked Raphael.  “Findin’ some missin’ homeless is pretty cut an’ dry.  We’ve done it before.”

“Ugh”—Mikey shivered—“Garbageman.  Thanks for the nightmares, Raphy.”

Leo sighed, saying, “I doubt it’s Garbageman, Mike.  We haven’t seen him in years, and he doesn’t match the description of Phil’s lead.”

Raph scowled at the Jonin.  “Ya mean the one where a red demon snatched his girlfriend Star?”

“Granted the guys are a little—“

“Detached?” asked Mikey, his grin shallow.

Leo sighed in admittance as Donny’s fists clenched.

“Regardless,” the genius stated, “Phil and Ernie been good allies over the years, trusting, helpful, and they deserve our full attention.  Right?”  Like scolded children, the other ninjas replied with their signature looks of shame—Leo with his subtle frown, Raph with his averted gaze, and Mikey with a sheepish smile.

“You’re right, Bro,” the youngest said.  “Sorry.”

Don nodded.  “While I don’t believe there’s a red beast prowling around there could be a connection with another string of crimes.”  Rounding the couch, the Chunin retrieved a remote held together by duct tape from the coffee table.  He pushed a saved channel button near the bottom that switched Raphael’s UWS channel to News Channel Six.

“Phil’s red demon is connected to the crime of possible snow?” asked Mikey, pointing to the weather forecast.

“No.”  With a push of three more buttons, Don brought up a pre-recorded news segment in which a well-groomed brunette—adorned in winter gear—stood before an industrial building.  Her painted lips were frozen in mid-sentence above a microphone because Don paused the program to explain.  “I recorded this yesterday.  The topic should be familiar.”

Then the program began to play, drawing the attention of the brothers.  “Good morning, everyone,” the brunette said.  “I’m reporter May Fields from Channel Six News, reporting live from the front steps of the Oswald Cybernetics Corporation, where yet another Little Red Robbery took place last night.  Details of the crime are extremely limited—given the company’s secretive nature—but sources claim the iconic red hoods were confirmed from salvaged surveillance feeds.   If you look behind me”—May stepped aside so the audience could spot what she pointed to—” you can see three massive tarps attached to the building’s right side, covering a gaping hole in its concrete structure.  This was the apparent point of entry—a remarkable feat considering its _six_ stories up.”

Pausing, the woman returned to her station then drew in a deep breath.  “The NYPD is privileged with a list of stolen items, so we, as onlookers, can only speculate what materials were taken.  The bigger question, though, is this: how can a robbery six stories off the ground be so successful?  Will the raids against New York’s finest research institutes ever be stopped?  KALTek, Erudio Laboratories, and Christian’s University for Biological Advancement are among the various companies to have been struck with the setback of a Little Red Robbery.  Who will be next?  I’m afraid only time can tell.  This has been May Fields of Channel Six News.  Back to you, Christa.”

“Thank you, May,” Christa Neville replied.  The feed cut to Channel Six’s anchorwoman at an over-polished desk, and she gave a smile, straightening her posture.  “On that note, Police Commissioner Jeffrey Powell has confirmed that a special task force is on the case, and with the possible aid of John Bishop, they hope to solve the Little Red Robberies soon.  Reports state that funding for the new EPF station will be taken from—“

The recording paused again, courtesy of Donatello.  Instead of switching the television back to its previous program, the genius shut it off altogether.  He dropped the remote on the coffee table then faced his brothers, gaze questioning.

“So,” started Michelangelo, “am I the only one who’s confused about what robberies and kidnappings have in common?”

“For once, ya ain’t,” Raphael added.

“It’s the red cloaks,” Leonardo concluded.

Donny hummed.  “Think about it.  Ernie and Phil see the world in a…unique light.  It’s possible that they mistook a red-cloaked figure as a demon.”

“Thought”—Mikey held up his hands for attention—“say they _are_ the same people.  It doesn’t explain why a group interested in robotics would snatch someone off the street.”

“Especially a homeless chick,” added Raph, almost under his breath.

Don’s eyes narrowed at his red-masked brother.  “What’s that mean?”

Raph fidgeted yet kept any surprise from his voice when he replied.  “It’s weird shit, is all.  She’s a five-buck-ransom at most.  An’ no offense ta Phil, but I’m sure she ain’t the degree ‘a lady that’s wanted for human trafficking.  Bottom line is: there ain’t any reason for someone ta take her.”

“True as that may seem,” hissed Don, “you shouldn’t talk about Star like that—as if she has no value.”

“Don’t twist my words, Donny; I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s just how it came out.  Right?”

“Knock it off, both of you,” Leo said.  He stepped between Don and Raph to prevent the genius from advancing any closer towards the couch.  When Don’s vision rose to meet his, the Jonin shook his head, glancing over his siblings.  “The Little Reds have grown popular over the last two months, so it’s worth a look regardless.  Remember when we were solving the mystery of Nia?  Nothing connected back then, either.”

“I, for one, hope this mystery doesn’t end as horribly as that did,” commented Mikey.  “You know, aside from meeting Nia and her parents still being alive bit.”

Don nodded alongside Leo, though reminded silent.

“Tonight, we’ll investigate Oswald Cybernetics,” the Jonin added.  He awaited a round of nods then continued,  “Be ready in three hours.”

“Sounds like a plan!” Mikey exclaimed.  As the orange-masked Chunin stood, a metallic grinding had him twisting around  “Nia’s back!”

### ━❖━

Nia Anders ceased pouring milk into her bowl of multi-colored cereal then glanced downwards.  A straggly-haired Tabby cat weaved between her legs in a continuous cycle.  Occasionally he’d shock himself against her polka dot stockings, yet he remained persistent, causing the young woman to giggle.

“Hi, Klunk,” said Nia.  She smiled when said cat looked up without hissing or pinning his ears back.  “You know I can’t.”

Klunk meowed then reared up, shallowly digging his claws into Nia’s upper thigh, just above the hem of her oversized sweater.

“Oh, come on,” she added.  “I’m trying to be good.”

Klunk meowed—more pathetically than before—and Nia sighed as he returned to rubbing her legs.  She tried finishing her task as if the Tabby left her judgment unaffected.  However, after a few more meows, she turned to the begging feline.

“Fine,” she whispered.  “But just a little bit.”  Before the artist even found a container, Klunk had started a chorus of mews.  Nia hurriedly delivered the milk and breathed a sigh of relief when he began drinking, quiet.

“Didn’t Mikey tell ya ta stop doin’ that?” a deep voice questioned.

Nia spun towards the kitchen’s entrance.  “It’s not a lot,” she told Raphael, smiling sheepishly.

“Ya still gave in.”  The mutant turtle stopped by Nia then smirked when she whined in defeat.  “Ya ain’t gotta bribe him so much anymore, ya know?  He doesn't run.”

Shrugging, Nia gave a lopsided grin.  “I’m not bribing.  I’m just”—she glanced at the Tabby then Raph—“I can’t help it.  Klunk’s the first cat to ever let me near him.  Besides, look how cute he is.”

“Cute?”  Raph’s amber eyes fell on Klunk.  “The thing looks like he got his paws stuck in an electrical socket, an’ I’m sure his fur feels like dried mud.”

“It doesn’t.”  Although Nia strived for a disapproving stare, a smile spread across her lips when her boyfriend faced her again.

“Whatever,” he said.  “I’m more of a dog person.  An’ not those toy dogs either.  I mean a _real_ dog.  Like a German Sheppard.”

“Wonder when I’ll get to pet a dog,” Nia added.  She tapped an index finger against her chin, visualizing the difference in the texture of cat and dog fur, but shook the thought away when Klunk ran from the kitchen.  “You’re welcome!” she called after him.

With the feline now gone, Raphael kicked the empty container towards Nia’s feet then began preparing his own bowl of cereal.  The young woman picked up the dish and dropped it into the sink beside the refrigerator.  She opened her mouth with the intent of asking why Raphael was awake until a strange squeal stopped her heart and question.

Jerking sideways, she asked, “What was that?”  Raph didn’t face her, though.  Or answer, for that matter.  He back peddled, and she swore his face paled to a shade of gray-green.  “Raph, what’s wrong?”

“Where’s a fuckin’ newspaper, Ni?”

“I—I don’t know.”  The artist frowned as her boyfriend tripped over a chair in his wild search.  “Wh—what’s going on?”

“On the counter.  It needs ta die.”

“What does?”

“That fuckin’ spider, that’s what!”

Brows furrowed, Nia bent down to study the kitchen countertop.  On its marble-print pattern, a spider—no bigger than the radius of a marker lid— crept around slowly, perhaps on guard, and Nia smiled when it didn’t shy away from the hand she offered.

“That’s disgustin’!”  Raph’s narrowed eyes were not fixed on Nia’s smile, but the arachnid that crawled up her sleeve.

“He’s too small to cause any harm,” she said.

“So what?  Kill it!”

“It doesn’t deserve a death sentence just because you’re scared.”

“I ain’t scared; I’m disgusted!”

“The mutant turtle that lives in Ney York’s sewers is disgusted over a spider?”  Nia received a glare, yet felt far from threatened.  So, still smiling, passed her boyfriend, who avoided her arm as if it were leprous.   At the kitchen’s threshold, she cast a look over her shoulder.  “You know, I wasn’t convinced your phobia existed, but Mikey hadn’t been exaggerating, had he?”

Raphael’s eye twitched as he wagged a thick finger.  “I ain’t got a damn phobia.  I just hate bugs.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why ain’t ya killin’ it?”

“Don’t worry; I won’t let it get you.”  Nia left the kitchen with a giggle then neared the Lair’s main entrance.  The door’s mechanisms groaned as it slid open and she stopped at the first tunnel bend after exiting.  “Here you go, little guy,” she said as the arachnid crawled from her hand onto the brick wall.  “It’s safer if you spin your home out here; ninja turtles can be dangerous.”  Perhaps it was silly to joke with a spider.  The thought didn’t bother Nia, though.  She just laughed.  “Thanks for not running from me,” she continued.  Waving it goodbye, she entered the Lair, secured the front entrance, and then headed for the kitchen.

Raphael met her by the dining table, two bowls of cereal in hand, and grimaced.  “Ya let it live,” he grumbled, taking a seat.

Nia accepted the bowl he offered her then followed suit.  “It’s out of the Lair now.”

“It could come back.”

“Well, if you aren’t scared then it doesn’t matter, right?”

Raph scoffed and dug into his bowl.

Nia began eating as well, though at a slower pace and minus the hard chewing.  “So,” she started, “what are you doing up?” 

“Eatin’,” Raph said with a full mouth.

“Y—you know what I mean.”  Nia swallowed.  “I was asleep when you guys returned from patrol.  I thought you'd be out for hours.”

“I was.”  Raph ate another bite of cereal.  “My stomach woke me up.  What about ya?  Shouldn’t ya be convertin’ ta a ‘normal’ schedule?”

After a long sigh, Nia’s spoon lowered from her lips.  “I went to bed soon after you guys left, but I guess I’m too much of a night owl.  I feel…restless.”

“What time do ya gotta be there again?”

“Nine AM.”

The mutant cringed.  “Don’t envy ya.”

“Well, it—it’s for a good cause.  The Outreach feels a mural would be uplifting for the homeless there.  I know it doesn’t pay, but that’s okay.  I—I’m just honored Hugh referred me.”

“Yer good at what ya do, Ni; it ain’t surprisin’.”

While the compliment may have been unintentional, heat still spread across Nia’s face, forcing her gaze on the soggy cereal bits floating in her milk.  “Thanks.  Um, how did patrol go?  Did you guys find anything at Oswald?”  The young woman noted with a frown how sour Raph’s expression grew—his tell-tale sign that something had not gone wrong.

“The damn place was a dead end,” he said.  “The only thing we found out is that the thieves cleaned house.  The company’s missin’ a lot ‘a heavy equipment, which I ain’t got a clue how they moved.”

“I see,” Nia murmured.  Her boyfriend soured further, like an angry toad, yet she smiled when their eyes connected.  “Don’t worry.  If I’ve learned anything, it’s that the Hamato brothers’ persistence won’t leave them in the dark for long.”

“Damn straight.”  Raph smirked.  “Ya goin’ ta bed after this?”

“I don’t feel tired.  Why?”

“Uh, I was gunna ask if ya wanted ta watch a movie.  Or…somethin’.”

Nia flashed a smile at the mutant’s shrug.  “What’d you have in mind?”


	4. Father

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been so busy writing and playing auntie! Got so much to make up for. Sorry.
> 
> PS - I enjoy Hugh. So much. <3

 

* * *

 

Hamato Splinter shuddered when Donatello removed the stethoscope’s chest piece from between his father’s breast fur.  Doing so sent sharp pains through his bones, but experience disguised the discomfort from even Nia, who stood beside him in the Lair’s lab.

“Nia-chan,” he said, gripping tighter onto the hand she wrapped around his paw, “you are biting your lip.”

“Sorry,” Nia countered.

“There is no need for worry, young one.  This is a routine check-up.”

“Yes, but…”  The human’s touch trembled with a pulse of familiar electricity.  It was minor, though, and reminded the Ninjutsu master just how much control his newest pupil had gained over the last month.

“My pains are nothing more than age catching up to an old rat,” Splinter told her, chuckling.

“You sure?  H—how old are you, anyway?  Uh, if you don’t mind my asking.”

“I am technically twenty-six years old.”

Nia’s blue-green eyes widened.  “You mean you’re only three years older than the guys?”

“Technically.  I spent three years as a rat before my mutation, however, which means, physiologically, I am closer to my mid-fifties.”

“That’s so fast,” whispered Nia, almost breathless.  Her lips parted—no doubt in anticipation to ask more questions—yet they closed like some inner voice hindered her curiosity.

Splinter understood her hesitation, and stroked her hand, saying, “Typically, rats live two years, sometimes six or eight if from a strong bloodline.  My Master Yoshi took excellent care of me, and my bloodline has been blessed.”

“So”—Nia’s brows furrowed—“the moment you mutated, you started aging like a human?”

“Not immediately.  There was a period where our growth rate accelerated, especially our minds.  However, it eased with time.”

“I see…”

“Nia-chan.”

“Yes?”

Splinter could not help but laugh when the human stood at attention.  “I know you like to show support, and you meant to assist Donatello.  But you have no need to stay.  Go see your parents.”

Nia bit her lip, gaze drifting to the genius at his overcrowded desk.

“Go, child,” Splinter added.  “I am in good hands.”

“I told Donny I’d—“

“Don’t worry, Nia,” Donatello interjected.  He kept his hunched form turned, so his attention remained on the massive amount of paperwork spread around him.  “I got things covered.  Thanks for the offer, though.”

A long sigh confirmed Nia’s guilt, although she conceded.  “I’ll go,” she said.  “But I—I’ll bring back some herbal tea from the organic store, okay?”

At the males’ nods, Nia brightened.  She squeezed Splinter’s paw before releasing it then waved goodbye as she exited the lab.  Splinter grimaced once the aluminum door clicked shut.  Maintaining a genuine smile was taxing enough, let alone when under pressure from such an obviously-worried young woman.

“She’s turned out to be very affectionate, hasn’t she?” Donatello asked.

Splinter faced his son when the genius shook his head, as if unaware he had been staring at the unmoving door.  “Yes, she has,” the rat answered.

“It’s strange.  I never would’ve pegged her as that kind of person when she first arrived.”

“More of Nia-chan’s true self is revealed day by day.  I doubt even April-chan knew of the tenderness that lay below her anxiety.  The young woman has surprised us all.”

“Not you and Mikey.  You both had faith in her since the beginning.”

Splinter chuckled.  “There is no need for shame, my son.  When a master’s body fails him, all he has left is intuition.  Yours will strengthen in time.”

“Speaking of”—the mutant turtle swiveled on his stool, brown eyes darkened by distress—“have the Eucalyptus and Violets helped any?”  The genius’ tone suggested he wanted the truth, no matter the answer, so Splinter grunted.

“Not by much,” he said.  “The ache remains.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Donatello half-muttered.  He began shifting through papers, glancing between two sheets riddled with black text.  “If it's arthritis, the swelling should’ve gone down.  This means it’s possibly something more…Sensei”—the purple-masked Chūnin approached his father—“does the pain feel any different than before?  Do you feel it in new places?”

This time, Splinter managed to bite back his sigh.  “Yes.”

“Where?”

“The discomfort has spread from my joints to my bones.”

 “Otōsan…”  Donatello’s whisper trailed off as he met his father’s gaze.  “I’m taking a blood sample.”

Without awaiting a reply, he headed for a slender cabinet in the lab’s back corner.  A metallic clank sounded as the middle drawer opened then closed, and Splinter eyed his son when the self-proclaimed doctor returned with a syringe in hand.

“I must know,” said Donatello, stern.  “We already agreed that if the oils didn’t help, you wouldn’t fight this.”

“I know I did,” the rat replied.  He wanted to shy away from the rubber tie that Donatello also brought, yet the genius held him still.

“Onegai, Sensei.”

“Very well.”  Splinter’s words were laced with a disdain he could not fight, and never had offering his arm felt so difficult.  “Just be quick.”

### ━❖━

Detective Hugh Reese felt glued to the floor of Lennox Hill Hospital’s main entrance.  Why?  Because of an embarrassing situation involving a revolving door and a satchel that, apparently, he needed to keep a better eye on. 

 “These things will be the death of me,” the African-American grumbled.

 “You sure you’re alright?” a scratchy-voiced nurse beside him asked.

Hugh, very politely, declined the arm she offered.  “Yes.”

“I—I didn’t mean to unbalance you,” the nurse continued.  “When I went around front to push the satchel through, I had no idea you were pulling so hard.  Or that you had managed to squeeze halfway through that crack.”

“It’s okay.”  The man spoke assuredly, but as he stood upright, he felt his face flush.

“I thought you were aware of what I was doing.”

“I was…preoccupied.  It was my fault.”

“Still, I feel terrible.”

“It’s nothing.”  Inhaling, Hugh finally gained the courage to meet the nurse’s gaze.  She had surprisingly soft features, considering her voice matched that of a fifty-year-old cancer patient, and he smiled in an attempt to ease her troubled frown.  “Don’t worry; I won’t sue anybody.”

“What?  I—I didn’t mean you would—”  The nurse shook her head then stepped back.  “If you want, I can open the automatic doors when you leave.  We keep them turned off during the fall and winter because it lets in so much cold air.”

“No, no, it’s all fine,” the detective insisted.  By now the hospital patrons had returned to their own worlds, although that didn’t make the man any less antsy to leave.  The nurse looked like she would push matters further, so Hugh sidestepped her then began walking backward towards the lobby elevators.  “I’ll be satchel-free when I come back.  Promise.  Thanks for the help.”

Hugh turned around at the chime of an opening elevator.  After a young couple had exited, the detective entered and pushed the button that would close the metal doors.  They did so as the nurse asked which room he was headed for.  No matter; he no longer needed her guidance.

‘ _And if on the off-chance she calls security, I’ll just explain myself.  Simple_.’

The elevator soon announced Hugh’s arrival at the fifth floor.  Before its doors fully opened, the man was already strolling down the hallway lined with patients’ rooms and hanging art.  He greeted two nurses along the way and smiled once the plaque with the numbers ‘5—313’ could be spotted at a dead end.  The heavy door was left cracked, but Hugh knocked out of consideration.

“Come in,” a tired man said.

The detective entered, glancing around the pristine area before focusing on Gavin.  “Afternoon,” he greeted.  “How’s Mia today?”

“Still in a coma, ain’t she?” The redhead asked.  His eyes were lined by dark circles behind his glasses, which, when coupled with his slouch and reverting Irish drawl, meant Hugh would be dealing with a sleep-deprived ex-rival today.

‘ _Happy days,_ ’ thought Hugh as he walked towards a window.

“Well,” he started, “some days she sleeps better, right?  I haven’t visited since before Thanksgiving.  I just want to know if she’s had any other fevers.”

“She hasn’t,” answered Gavin.  He focused on his comatose wife instead of the detective who turned from the window.

“Good,” Hugh part-way mumbled.  Then he sighed.  “I know you don’t particularly care, but I’m sorry I haven’t been around.  The Commissioner’s assigned so many officers to the Little Red cases, I included.  I’ve barely had any personal time to keep track of Bishop.”

“That sodding Blackguard.”

“Uh, yeah, sure.”  Whatever a Blackguard was.  “The bastard’s been working overtime on his agenda.  He’s even drummed funding for his organization at the expense of some lesser-known grants.  It’s sad.  Everyone dismisses an influx of missing homeless like the end credits of a movie while he’s treated like a celebrity.  Guess it goes to show how entranced mankind is with trends.”

Gavin scoffed, fingers slipping behind his glasses to rub his eyes.

“It’s ridiculous, I agree,” Hugh added.  “I can’t even tell my best friend the truth.  Made changing your identities difficult, especially since I insisted everything be kept obscure.”

“Ai, our identities.”

“Something wrong with them?”

“Carol works for Mia.  Sarah is the name Nia chose.  But Melvin?  _Melvin_?  Even some gee-eyed eejit could pick better.”

“What?”  Hugh shrugged, despite the glare he received.  “It was random and popular enough.  Melvin Brown”—the man almost burst into laughter—“it’s not so bad.  Sure beats John Smith.”

Gavin looked unamused, of course, and Hugh sent him a smile that lasted until something caught his eye, a sliver of silver.  He headed for a cubby below a flat-screen television mounted on the wall opposing Mia’s bed.  There, he pushed aside a plastic bag filled with clothes to reveal several stone statues.

“These are the things we recovered from your house fire, right?” Hugh asked with knitted brows.

“Ai,” Gavin answered.

“Why are they here?  Shouldn’t they be with Nia?”

“Nia”—Gavin’s top lip curled—“hasn’t made up her mind.  Sometimes she stays here.  Other times she stays with me.  But most times—”

“She stays with the Hamatos,” Hugh finished.  Gavin’s eyes narrowed then fell on Hugh.  As they returned to Mia’s face, the detective added, “Seriously, get over that.”

“And how would you handle matters were she your daughter, eh, Detective?  Would you enjoy the idea of her galavanting with mutants through city sewers like some manky mentaller?”

 “Not so loud, dammit!”  Hugh approached Mia’s bedside with heavy footfalls, ensuring the door was closed all the way.  “What the hell is a manky men—never mind.  Can you at least acknowledge that they saved Nia’s life?  Twice.”

“I do acknowledge it.  And I’m thankful.  Regardless, the life they lead is not one I want Nia to be a part of.”

“She doesn’t seem to mind.  She’s even told me they’ve helped her claustrophobia improve.”

“It’s not a matter of what Nia minds.”  Gavin scrunched his face as if he smelled something sour.  “As a father, I don’t want my child living under streets; I want her living above them, funded by a stable career.  Instead, she seeks art—one of the most unstable job choices—and prefers to spend time with mutants.”

“Really?”  Hugh scoffed.  “Aren’t you at least happy she has friends now?”

“I’m not upset about that.”

“Bullshit.  You’re jealous!”  How badly the detective wanted to shake the redhead.  Doing so would only worsen matters, though.  So he resolved to take a calming breath before pointing at the unconscious brunette in bed.  “I bet if Mia could talk, she would tell us just how lonely Nia had been.  The poor girl probably didn’t even realize it—not until she made friends, _real_ friends.  I saw her after the fire.  She wasn’t just sad or hurt.  There wasn’t an ounce of hope left.  She was falling, broken.  Is that the life she should have?  One in which she’s left alone when you two do die?”

“Get out.” Gavin’s tone was flat yet light, and his gaze grew distant.

“Typical Gavin, blind to any view except his own.”

So why bother trying?  With a deep sigh, Hugh headed for the exit without saying goodbye.  The door was ajar, strangely enough, and his brows furrowed as he pulled it shut behind him.  In the hall stood a short brunette dressed in a quirky array of colors. 

“Nia,” Hugh said.  “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough,” Nia answered, eyes downcast.

“Well, in that case, you know I just got kicked out.  So maybe you could calm the irate Irish instead.”  Hugh side-stepped to unblock the doorway.  When Nia walked forward, he caught her wrist before she could turn the doorknob.  “Hey.”

The artist glanced over her shoulder, face void.

“I got you something.”

“What it is?”

“This.” The man removed then offered the leather satchel he had once warred with.  “I found it in a pawn shop during one of my investigations.  It’s a little old-fashioned, but…” 

“I love it,” Nia said, running her fingers over a brass buckle on its front side.  She gave the detective a hug, and when she stepped back, she slipped its long strap over her shoulder.  “It’s a perfect fit for my art supplies.  I can use it at work.”

“Thank goodness; it’ll get some use.”  Hugh chuckled, although the blank expression remained on the young woman’s face.  “Hey, I’m sorry.”  He jutted his chin towards Mia’s room, and Nia’s dark lips forced a smile.

“Me too,” she whispered.  “But Daddy has two choices at this point: either adjust or disown me.  Because I love the Hamatos.  And I don’t want a life without them.  Thanks again, Mister Hugh.”  With a weak sigh and the same fake smile, Nia nodded her leave to the detective then entered her mother’s room.

As the door clicked shut, Hugh couldn’t help thinking, ‘ _Being Gavin’s daughter sure seems like a drag._ ’


	5. Missing

* * *

 

Dinner hadn’t gone as far south as Nia expected.  The spread of spaghetti squash, seasoned mashed potatoes, and breaded chicken across the Lair’s dining table looked delicious, if she said so herself, and she beamed at the ninjas that filed into the dining room.

“I didn’t burn anything!” she cheered.  Her gaze focused more so on Raphael than Donatello or Leonardo, who faces scrunched as they took their seats.

“As my stomach recalls,” Raphael started, “yer worst batch ‘a cookies weren’t burnt either.”

“Yeah, I know, but this is—I mean…“  The artist sighed as she slumped into a chair between her boyfriend and Donny.

“Don’t fret, Raphy Boy,” added Michelangelo.  “I kept my eyes peeled.  This time.  There’s no salt-saturated potatoes or overcooked chicken cocoons.  There had been one close call, though.”

“Mikey, _shush_ ,” Nia whispered.  She leaned over the tabletop where she sat crossways from the orange-masked Chūnin, but he tapped a finger against his chin with a Cheshire grin.

“What’d she almost do this time?”

Leo sounded scared to know, and Nia fell back into her seat with a groan as Mikey continued, “I stopped her from mixing four tablespoons of Cayenne pepper into the dry rub.”

“Four tablespoons?” Donny asked, wide-eyed.

“I thought it was Paprika,” Nia grumbled.

“Even so,” added Leo, “isn’t four tablespoons a little much?”

“The recipe was written down for a meal thrice this size,” Mikey said.

“She forgot to divide,” Don finished.

“Yup!”

Under the mutants’ mixed expressions, Nia felt her face grow hot.  “I—It all checked out,” she said hurriedly.  “We even tried samples.  Now should I get Mister Splinter?”

“There is no need; Michelangelo’s laughter has summoned me.”  Chuckling, Splinter walked into view.  His rigid movements went unmentioned yet not unnoticed, and once he seated himself at the head of the table, he rested his cane against its edge.  He smiled at his children and Nia, though she could barely meet his dark eyes.  “I am proud you keep trying, Nia-chan,” the mutant rat continued.  “It is a blessing that you have Michelangelo as a mentor.”

“Yes, Mister Splinter,” Nia said.  She could tell the old master was just being respectful, however; if Mikey hadn’t vouched for her, he’d probably skip dinner.

“I think she did great!” Mikey added.  “Can we eat now?”

Silent, the group nodded.  Nia’s next actions followed those of the Hamatos as if on auto-pilot.  While they weren’t as behind as the first few times she had taken part in the Japanese tradition, she hesitated before placing her palms together before her face.

“Itadakimasu,” everyone said in unison.  Albeit Nia butchered the foreign words and bowed her head at the wrong time—again—Splinter still looked at her with kindness.

“So, Nia-chan,” he said, “how was your first day of work?”

“Oh, it—it was alright,” Nia answered.  She stabbed her fork into her breaded chicken, but of course, Splinter pressured her with his stare until she sighed in submission.  “I—I thought I’d be okay.  You know?  I’ve grown so used to you guys that—that I forget how terrible I—I—I am at first impressions.  I thought maybe I had gotten over the awkwardness.  No.  It all came flooding back.”

“It couldn’t have been that bad,” Mikey said, cheeks stuffed.

Nia grimaced.  “Aside from the fact that I kept forgetting my alias, for the first five minutes, I could only speak in art facts.”

“You know a lot of interesting trivia,” Donny said.  The genius swallowed his food with dignity, although Nia swore he wanted to laugh.  “I’m sure your boss was…intrigued.”

“He greeted me, and I told him Grandma Moses died at the age of a hundred and one.”

“But you eased up, right?”

“He paused, held my hand tighter, then laughed it off.  When I tried to explain myself, I wound up telling him Leonardo Da Vinci invented high heels.”

“He did?” asked Leo.

“Who’s Grandma Moses?” Raph added in a muffled voice.

“I—I said these things right at the Hotel entrance,” Nia continued.  Her ears burned, and she picked her chicken apart as she recalled images of confused homeless patrons and new co-workers.

“Yet you worked your full shift.  Correct, Nia-chan?”  The artist twisted towards Splinter at the table’s head.  When she nodded, he went on to say, ”Then things were not so dreadful.  Your boss must be a gifted judge of character.”

“And patient,” Raph interjected.                                              

Nia flashed her boyfriend a look.

“So,” Donny started, “who is your employer?”

“He must be pretty chill to accept your anxiety ticks like that,” said Michelangelo.  The two youngest Hamatos grinned.

“Well”—Nia hunched her shoulders—“by the time I told him Andy Brown had crafted a portrait of Queen Elizabeth the Second by sewing together a thousand used tea bags, he seemed to find me humorous, not annoying.  U—um, his name is George Baker.  He’s in his early fifties.  Sweet smile.  He loves his cause; even in the short time I spent there, I saw him speak with others like they were family.”

“George Baker,” Don parroted, taking another bite of his potatoes.  “He sounds familiar.”

“We—well, East Harlem Outreach Hotel is one of the most notable shelters in New York.  According to Mister Baker, anyhow.  He founded it twenty years ago? Fifteen?  So—something like that.  It’s been slow to establish since his aim differs from traditional homeless shelters, so it isn’t granted as much Federal funding.”

“What’s so different about it?” Leo asked.

Nia sent him a smile, saying, “Baker didn’t explain in full.  But he told me Outreach is a transition home, not a place where the homeless crash overnight.  It’s a safe-haven where they can learn self-worth and work-ethic, feel like people instead of numbers.  He said, ‘You don’t put a band-aid on a gaping wound, you stitch it first.  That takes work, and I’m willing to put in the effort.  Not many agree, though.  They’d rather stick with the band-aid.  It’s easier.  Which do you prefer, Miss Brown?’”

“What’d ya tell him?”  At some point, Raph had stopped eating, and both of his large hands rested beside his nearly-empty plate.  He studied his girlfriend behind curious amber eyes that left the artist somewhat giddy.

“I, uh…”  Nia wrung the hem of her panda-print sweater, attention shifting from Raph to the table then back again.  “I replied without thinking, honestly.  Said a wound would never heal if left untreated.  It isn’t right to let it bleed o—or grow infected.  Those who ignore it are heartless, selfish.  And they don’t deserve the privileges they have.”

“That is very true, Nia-chan,” said Splinter.

“He—he smiled,” the young woman continued.  “Didn’t say anything more, though.  Just brought me to the wall he wants a mural on.”

“Eh?”  Mikey barely caught Nia’s gaze.  “Was something wrong with the wall?”

“Not the wall…”                                                                                

“Meanin’?” Even when Nia faced the red-masked Chūnin, she couldn’t force a smile.  “What’s wrong, Ni?”

“The wall,” Nia answered.  “It’s at least forty feet long, maybe nine feet high, and it’s plastered with missing person posters.  Mi—Mister Baker explained that ever since he opened the hotel, he’s been keeping track of who comes and who…goes.”

“Those posters are all missing homeless?”

The artist nodded towards Michelangelo.  “People who he’s tried to help.  I—I spent most of my shift taking them down.  He told me to pile them until he figures out where else to do.  Said while it’s important to remember who’s out there, he wanted to showcase something more positive for those who remained.”

“How many are missing?” Leonardo asked.

“Over three hundred,” Nia whispered.  “I stopped counting by then.”

“Th—that’s insane,” Mikey said after a brief yet poignant pause.

“If some posters date back to the nineteen-nineties, there must be a lot of cold cases,” Leo added, grim.

Nia’s stomach churned as she caught the Jonin’s eyes.  “Very few are cases, actually.  Most posters were made by Baker himself.”

“Ya mean the police ain’t lookin’?”  There was a snarl in Rap’s question, one which Nia found justified.

“The NYPD claims the destitute are ‘liable to migrate.’  So far, only Hugh’s friend, Detective Erlich, has been pushing them to consider more homeless cases.”

“Figures,” the hothead muttered.

“Nia-chan”—Splinter spoke as Raph polished off his meal with an aggressive bite—“how do you feel in such an environment?”

“Fe—feel?” Nia asked.  She received a nod.  “It feels…weird.  Like—weird.  Then again, lots of things have felt weird lately.”

“How so, young one?”

Nia frowned.  “Well, ever since Oct—October, I haven’t had any migraines.  But it’s as if something else has taken their place.  Nothing painful.  Just off.  It’s more unsettling around others, and it’s getting harder to push aside.  I—I guess you could call it a gut instinct?  A vibe?  For example, Mister Baker _seems_ irreproachable, but the longer he talked, the more his love, sorrow, and optimism affected me.  So much so that I felt convinced the care wasn’t something I could assume, it was something I _knew_.  Without doubt.  It’s—”  The artist froze under the studious looks she was given.  “I—I know it sounds—”

“No need for defense, Nia-chan,” interjected Splinter.  “It seems you have another side in need of exploration.  Do you wish to meditate after our meal?”

Nia couldn’t nod fast enough.  “I—I should, now that it’s…intensifying.  Thank you, Mister Splinter.”

“My pleasure,” the mutant rat replied.  “Now”—his whiskers twitched as he smiled—“stop playing with your food.”

 

### ━❖━

 

A winter-clothed Michelangelo waved through a sheet of foggy glass.  “Yo, Hughy!” he said, sneakers balancing on a redbrick ledge outside the detective’s spare bedroom.

“What are you doing?” Hugh hissed.  His tall form—wrapped snug in a t-shirt and sweatpants—was bent in half so he could talk through the cracked window, and Mikey failed to understand why he didn’t step aside.

“What’s it look like, Dude?  Can I come in?  It’s freezing.  Literally.”

“Good, God.”  The African-American ran a hand down his dark face.  “It couldn’t be a confused bird pecking at the glass, could it?”

“I’m better than a bird.”

“Michelangelo—“

“Please?”  Mikey gave his best puppy dog pout.

Despite it, Hugh shook his head of tight curls.  “I handed over my address for emergencies, not to drop by unannounced in the middle of the night.”

“This _is_ an emergency.”  Huffing, Mikey leaned forward until his head thumped against the frosted class.  “Leo’s been meditating for hours.  Splinter’s passed out.  Donny kicked me out of the lab.  And Nia and Raph are on a ‘date.’”

“What’s with the air quotations?”

“I say date when the shell-head probably just took her to a rooftop.  Again.”  The Chūnin rolled his eyes.  “That dude needs a serious romance intervention, I’m telling you.”

“Will you keep your voice down?”

“Why are you whispering?”

 “Because this is my house and I’m married.  You think I’m alone?”

“Wasn’t Marina working a different shift tonight?”

Hugh’s fat-lipped mouth grew slack.  “Damn,” he said, “you have a good memory.”

“Sometimes.”  Mikey flashed a lopsided grin behind the crocheted scarf that swallowed half his head, and Hugh sighed.

“Sorry, Mike; things have changed.  Marina and I have…company.”

“Aw, come on.”  The mutant groaned, but at the detective’s half-annoyed-half-sympathetic smile, he lightened his tone.  “Sorry.  Just wanted to see if we could brainstorm a little mystery my bros and I are investigating.”

“Don’t worry about,” Hugh said.  “I wish they weren’t here, either.  At least, not under current circumstances.”

“Why?”

“Hugh!  For heaven’s sake, what are you doing?”  A feminine voice silenced Hugh.  The human jerked upright, crowding the window to keep the Chūnin obscured.  However, Mikey had already moved out of view and latched on the nearest gap between the townhouse’s stacked stone structure.  “There you are,” the voice continued.  “What was that noise?”

“Bird,” Hugh answered, chuckling.

“Okay.  Well, Jen’s losing it.”

“So—sorry, Rina.  Got lost in…thought.  I’ll be right there.”

“You better.  Blaine looks ready to tear out the front door.”

“Make sure he doesn’t.  K?”

There was a curt sigh as a pair of footsteps left the room.  Only after a moment of silence did Michelangelo return to his perch, frowning as Hugh bent down again.

 “What’s up?” he asked.

Hugh sucked in a deep breath.  “My best friend and his wife came over.  Their, uh, their seven-year-old daughter is missing.  Look, I’m sorry.  You gotta go.”

“Wait!”  Mikey slipped a hand under the window’s lower sash before it could close and pushed it back up.  “Kidnappings are actually what I wanted to talk about.”

“We don’t know if it’s a kidnapping yet.”

“Then go find out.  I listen in.”

“That may not be the best idea.”

“Dude”—Mikey deadpanned—“I’m a ninja.  Invisible is my middle name.”

“ _Fine_ , knock yourself out.” Hugh stepped back then threw his long arms upwards.  “I can’t say when or if they’ll leave though.”

“I’ll manage.”

Michelangelo shimmied through the open window—a difficult task, given that his puffy coat added bulk onto his already-wide frame.  Inside, he gave Hugh two thumbs up, but the guy left the bedroom without so much as a raised eyebrow.

‘ _He’s super worried,_ ’ Mikey thought as he neared the doorway.  ‘ _Usually, it I can make him smile like—oh gosh!_ ’

A pungent scent tickled the mutant’s sinuses, overpowering.  He stifled a cough and had to blink before his senses could adjust to the stench: cigarette smoke.  It filled a sitting room at the end of the hallway with a gray haze, concentrated around a rustic blonde dressed in a trench coat and pajama bottoms.  His hand hugged his mouth as he exhaled like a dragon, and he didn’t pay the two ladies on the couch any mind, even when they would fan the smoke away.

“Blaine,” one lady—a broad-shoulder blonde with curly hair—spoke up, “Marina gave you permission to light a few, not enough to peel the paint off the walls.”

“It’s alright, Jennifer,” the second lady said.  She kept an arm around Jennifer’s parka and followed the smoker with dark eyes.

“I think he should cut back,” added Hugh from someplace unseen.  “You’re choking out the wives, Man.”

Groaning, Blaine rolled his neck then approached a metal coffee table part-way hidden from view.  He bent down, probably to smother his cigarette bud in an ashtray, and the tan lady, Hugh’s wife, sighed as he straightened up.

“Now,” continued Hugh, “what happened?”

“Oh”—Blaine faced wherever Hugh stood—“you mean _before_ you went to check on some damn lost bird for ten minutes?”

“Lane,” Jennifer said.  Just from her voice, Mike could tell how tired she must’ve felt.

“When did you last see Kaiya?” Marina asked.

“Wh—when we sent her off to bed,” answered Jennifer, breath hitching.  “She—she and Blaine had fought.”

“About what?”

Blaine’s scoff drew the other’s attention.  “She got suspended for attacking another student.”  Although his back was turned, the mutant would guess the guy glowered in disproval.

“Seriously?  Why?”  This time, Hugh had spoken up, and Jennifer craned her long neck towards his hidden form.

“The usual,” she said.  “Some boys were”—she let out a shaky breath—“were talking about last Halloween.  With this EPF nonsense gaining popularity, Kaiya’s convinced the so-called ‘Hollow’s Eve Demon’ is real.”

“I’ve told Jen to stop letting those stories warp her mind,” Blaine added, boot stomping against the wood floor.  “Bishop’s insane, and the Commissioner even more so for endorsing him.  Aliens, ghost, demons, mutants— _none_ of that shit exists.  Right, Hugh?”

“Uh”—the detective chuckled weakly—“I believe the world has a few twists in it.”

“You would.”  The blonde snorted.  “It’s unhealthy for Kai to believe in such things.”

“Blaine, she’s seven,” Jennifer interjected as she scooted part-way off the couch cushion.  “You shouldn’t be so hard on her imagination.”

Blaine faced his wife with animated arms.  “That _imagination_ has kicked her out of a bookstore, risked hypothermia, put her allowance to poor use.  And now?  Gotten her suspended.  She can’t go on like that, Jen!”

“But keeping her from what she loves doesn’t help.”  Jennifer’s voice broke into a sob.  “That’s why she’s run away!”

Marina welcomed the blonde into her arms, soothing her friend as she clung to the bell sleeves of her sleeping shirt.  “So this isn’t kidnapping,” she said.  “Kaiya ran away.”

“Y—Yeah,” Blaine answered.  “I went to check on her at nine, but…she wasn’t there.”

“And you found no clues?” asked Marina.

“Not yet.”

With a hiss, Jennifer sat upright, her attention set on Hugh.  “I told him to call the precinct or FBI, but he insisted on coming here first!”

“It’s been a little over an hour, Jen, she couldn’t have gotten far,” Hugh replied.

“You think that matters?”  Jennifer stood, and the only thing that kept her tethered was Marina’s grip on her gloved hand.  “She’s just a little girl!  Do you know what sick bastards out there _do_ to little girls?”

“Believe me, I know!” Hugh countered.  “Blaine and I will handle this.  If we come up empty-handed by sunrise, we’ll file a report, contact the feds.  Maybe Kyle can help.”

“And what about us?” Marina asked.

“You and Jen should go back to my place,” answered Blaine.  “In case she comes home.”

Jennifer looked ready for a fight; her pale face scrunched, her body shook, her hands balled up. But Marina calmed her with a tight hug, whispering something through her mess of curly hair.  Gradually, the blonde’s tenseness eased, her expression melting into a look of despair that had the mutant’s stomach in knots.  When Jennifer returned the hug, Hugh stepped into sight.  He had already slipped into a trenchcoat similar to Blaine’s and gave the two wives a peck on the cheek before heading off.

Guess he wouldn’t be returning,  Expected.  What was unexpected?  The bedroom door opening like some cheesy horror film.

‘ _Aw, shell!_ ’

In a silent leap, Mikey scaled the darkest corner possible, away from any light that filtered through the closed window or sitting room down the hall.  His muscles screamed from strain—mainly because he hadn’t had time to whip out his shuko—and he cursed as his six fingers slipped bit by bit down the drywall.  A little figure wandered in, a toddler dressed in a nightgown.

“Misser fan-tomb?” she asked, voice laden with sleepiness.  Her yellow-blonde hair stuck out in every direction, and their ends shook as she glanced around.  “Misser fan-tomb, where you go?”

Mikey slipped another inch.  ‘ _Come on, little dudette.  Leave._ ’

“Misser?  Misser fan-tomb?”

“Megan, Baby, why are you up?” Jennifer asked.  The tall blonde entered through the doorway and kneeled beside Megan at the room’s center.

The toddler rubbed her nose into the crook of her chubby arm, saying, “I saw fan-tomb.”

“Megan.”  Jennifer sighed then scooped her daughter up.  “Please.  Don’t do this to Mommy.  Not now.  Let’s get you back to bed.” 

Megan remained silent as her mother escorted her out, although the frown on her pale face convinced the mutant he had been seen after all.  ‘ _Great,_ ’ he thought as he dropped to the floor.  ‘ _That’s something I’m omitting when I tell the others about this.  Now to get home._ ’


End file.
